


Dark Duress

by Deejaymil



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: (so long as no one tells Rossi), Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy endings and then some, Hotch's self control is monumental, Multi, No one is traumatised by this, Sex Pollen, The others... not so much, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-25 07:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15636492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: Trapped underground in a bunker with no obvious method of escape: what's the worst that could happen?





	Dark Duress

**Author's Note:**

> **_Fills for the bingo bango bongo squares: ‘sex pollen’ and ‘trapped together’_ **
> 
> I had to write a sex pollen fic eventually womp womp
> 
> (Don't judge me)

There’s no way out, at least not one that Hotch can find. The room they’re in is low but narrow, the roof truncated enough to brush both his and Reid’s heads when they stand straight. Their voices echo in the gloom, the only light from the flashlights the four of them hold. They’re armed, but what use are guns against solid metal doors? Reid’s already tried to work the covers from the air-vents and found nothing but a steady stream of cool air blowing in, too small for any of them to crawl through, even JJ. Hotch takes a breath of that cool air to calm himself, letting his flashlight skip from team member to team member to make sure they’re all still calm as well. They are. Emily is leaning against a wall, looking at him with one hand on the butt of her weapon. Reid is hovering beside her, also looking to Hotch. JJ is checking the door again, turning and wincing as his flashlight beam catches her eyes in a snapshot of blue and white.

“Stay calm,” Hotch instructs them firmly, well aware that it’s his duty to get these people out of this predicament and home safely to their families. It’s always been his duty—he refuses to fail them now. “Morgan and Rossi will realise we haven’t sounded off and come looking for us.”

“We’re underground,” Reid replies, his voice sharp and tinny in the hollow room surrounding. “No cell reception, no radio reception… the passages to get here are a labyrinth.” There’s an uncharacteristic whine to his voice and Hotch darts the flashlight at him, heart sinking slightly. That look on Reid’s face: it’s fear. Of what, Hotch wonders? Of dying down here? Of whatever their UnSub wants to do to them?

Or, as Emily’s flashlight flickers warningly by her side, of the dark that’s pressing in from every corner, barely chased away by their shaking beams?

“We’re going to be fine,” Emily says resolutely. “But we should conserve our batteries, just in case.”

“Prentiss is right.” Hotch turns his off, JJ doing the same, leaving only Emily’s and Reid’s. “Prentiss, yours first, since it’s already working erratically. Sweep the walls and vents again with it, see if there’s a way out.”

They all know there isn’t, but they have to try.

If Reid makes a noise when his light turns off and plunges him into the darkness, they all do him the favour of pretending that they don’t hear it.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been stuck in the depths of the fucking earth for hours by this point and Emily is fed fucking up. It’s day seven of looking for the asshole that’s now got _them_ , and Emily’s never taken well to being caged—especially not on day seven of a manhunt when she’s tired and hyped up on nothing but shitty precinct coffee and fast-food, wearing the clothes she wore on Day One and hoping no one notices. Reid’s shuffled so close to her side she’s pretty sure he’s trying to fuse with her somehow, the occasional sporadic shudder working through him reminding her that you don’t make it to thirty-years-old still being afraid of the dark without reason.

JJ’s asleep. Hotch’s breathing is always sedate, but she suspects he might be too. Despite the adrenaline-pushing situation they’re in, she’s not shocked. They’re all running on fumes and if she wasn’t so angry, she’d probably be asleep too. Reid, she doesn’t know. The man’s an insomniac normally, so she doubts he’s going to find the magic ‘wind down’ button down here.

“You okay?” she asks him, leaning her head against his shoulder and listening to the jackrabbit beat of his heartbeat. “You’re shaking.”

“It’s cold down here,” is his only admission, shifting next to her so his arms are wrapped tightly around his knees, shoulder slumping forward as he bows over them to lean his chin atop his hand. “I’m generating extra metabolic heat by shivering.”

“Or you could borrow my coat.” She laughs at his audible huff, knowing he’s just rolled his eyes at her. “Look, Rossi’s a smartass. He’ll have us out of here within hours, you watch. How hard can we possibly be to find?”

She’s just asked that question to the only man in the world who can math it out and answer it; that’s probably why he does her the favour of not answering. Instead, he slips an arm loose and wraps it around her, pulling her closer. It’s only when tucked against his warm side that she realises she’s cold too.

“You need your coat,” he mumbles into her hair. She feels his eyes flicker shut, feels his heart rate slow ever so slightly. “Sss…”

She blinks, startled by the way he’s suddenly just trailed off. “Reid?” No answer. Just his weight going limp against her, her body jolting with another rush of adrenaline as he slumps. Suddenly, she’s up and watching him topple, his eyes flickering open in the light from her suddenly-on flashlight as she kneels and shakes him roughly.

He wakes up. Thank _fuck,_ he wakes up. And the air isn’t just cold now—it’s dangerous. The drop in temperature is notable, no longer gradual and surreptitiously deadly.

“He’s freezing us,” she says.

Spencer swallows hard. “Wake the others,” he tells her.

She does, the beam of her light catching the way that the air now fogs from her mouth.

 

* * *

 

They’re awake and huddled together by this point, the icy temperature having settled at about ten degrees below comfortable. JJ’s managing to hide the chatter of her teeth, but Spence isn’t. She keeps glancing at him, concerned by his lack of a coat and his refusal to take Hotch’s when the man had offered. Desert boy, born and bred in Vegas—she doubts that brain is at all useful when being snap-frozen by some asshole in a spooky bunker.

“If the temperature keeps falling, what are our options?” Hotch asks Spence, who nips at his lip and doesn’t answer.

“Naked snuggling,” Emily offers with a smirk. JJ sighs. At least Emily’s mood is improving now that they’re notably in danger instead of just being bored and contained. Figures. “Dibs on JJ.”

“Hypothermia is kinder,” Spence chatters out, turning away from the beam of the flashlight Hotch is holding to peer at the vents. They’re loudly silent, just adding to the noiselessness of their captivity down here, and JJ watches how the shadows illuminate his profile before he turns back towards them and the shadows catch his face instead, creating hollows under his eyes that reshape familiar features unsettlingly. “Can I borrow the flashlight?”

Hotch hands it over, shifting slightly to let Spence stand from his huddled position by his side, skirting the vent to hold the light against it. They all watch, wondering what he’s doing—until JJ sees it, moments after the rest of them do. The thin stream of _something_ —air, maybe, but pressurised—illuminated by the sudden stark light.

“What is that?” Emily asks. “Is that gas?”

Spence glances at Hotch, his expression unfathomable without the light to catch it. JJ, at that moment, thinks of her family. If they’re being poisoned, there’s nothing they can—

“Cover your mouths,” Hotch commands, his voice calm despite the thin edge of _something_ starting to appear at the edge of it. “Now. Don’t uncover them. Reid, get away from there—and everyone stay _low_.”

Belly to the freezing cement and wondering if this is how she dies, JJ breathes in the cotton-and-washing-powder scent of her shirt and, once again, thinks of her family, as the rest of her team do the exact same beside her.

“Breathe shallowly,” comes Spence’s muffled voice.

“Don’t talk,” follows Hotch’s.

JJ closes her eyes until a warm, wide hand finds hers and wraps itself tight around it. Spencer. She clings and hopes they’re not going to die down here, feeling his fingers tapping out a nervous pattern on the cool skin of her wrist.

 

* * *

 

Reid feels it first. It’s a burn that’s welcome because the temperature in here is cripplingly cold, so, when the heat starts low in his body and begins to pool upwards, he’s at first thankful—but only for a second. The next, he’s wondering: what the hell is causing _that?_ He’s never been less inclined to be aroused before, but aroused he’s becoming, feeling a tightness building in his throat as he panics just a little at what his brain is doing and pondering just what wires have been crossed up there for him to find _this_ titillating.

He tries to breathe slower, managing his arousal responses. In the past, focusing on his breathing and slowing his body down has always been enough to calm him down when remaining aroused would be inappropriate or unwarranted. He was a fifteen-year-old boy in college dorms: plenty of practice at controlling his limbic system. And, for a moment, it works. The slow fire under his skin recedes, the tightness between his legs loosening. A fear response, he rationalises. Maybe it’s just a fear response. After all, he has to be some kind of adrenaline junkie to do the job he does when he’d do just as well at a desk, right?

But whatever he’s thinking is driven clean out of his mind as JJ takes an audible breath and shifts around, the skin of her wrist bumping his palm.

He gasps.

“Spencer?” JJ turns in the dark and he can hear her fumbling for her flashlight, her voice muffled by the shirt around her face. “Are you okay?”

He nods at first, panicked by the idea of her looking at him and somehow seeing, despite being sure he’s too early in the excitement phase for any adverse physiological symptoms to be showing on his features. But her skin on his is like the worst kind of pleasure/pain possible, his body surging with the desirous notion of curling his hand tighter around her, pulling her close, having _more_ of her within reach. And, as soon as he thinks that, he knows he’s partially erect despite there being no sexual stimulation in this bunker to explain _why._

Light flickers on and he winces as it strikes his unprepared eyes, night vision scattering instantly despite JJ trying to avoid blinding him with it. He hadn’t responded to her and now she’s looking at him, Emily’s head lifted from her arms beside her as she watches him too.

“I’m fine,” he croaks, letting his fingers rest once more on her wrist in a comforting tap tap tap of skin on skin that’s not at all comforting to him. But to her…

Then, he frowns. He can’t see Emily clearly past the blinding white glare of the flashlight and Hotch is over his other side, out of view—but he can see JJ. He’s touching JJ. And her pulse in her wrist is rapid considering she’s at a resting state, even allotting for her being under stress. Her skin is warming as he stops tapping and lets his fingers rest on them, feeling the heat on his fingertips. Her chest is moving quicker, lips slightly parted. He turns her hand and examines the palm, feeling dizzy and strange for a good minute while he notes the pink flush there: vasocongestion of the skin. It’s an overt sign of stimulation, the sex flush. She’s aroused too, his brain misfiring hard as it reminds him what _else_ vasocongestion affects during arousal.

And when he looks up into her eyes, he knows she’s seen it in him as well, swallowing before flicking off the flashlight. As soon as it’s dark again, her grip tightens in his. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe through it, unable to form the words to ask Emily or Hotch if they’re feeling it too. Unable to look at JJ at all without his body reminding him painfully that it’s preparing for sex, his mind leaping aboard and beginning to conjure illusionary images of how that would feel, taste, _sound_. No matter what he tries, what he does, he can’t stop it.

What the hell is happening to them?

 

* * *

 

Emily’s not sure how to ask the question she needs to ask, even though she’s made a lifetime of being astoundingly blunt when needed—somehow, there’s blunt, and then there’s asking Aaron fucking Hotchner if he’s as horny as she is right now. Not to mention, _Reid_. Now there’s a man whose dick she’s never considered but sure is considering now.

She decides escape is better than admittance and bolts up, ignoring Hotch growling at her to stay low— _growling_ , and she groans as it turns what had been an almost nice horny into a hot flush of pain across her whole body. There has to be a way out of here—there has to. Staying low isn’t going to cut it if this gas is doing what she’s assuming it’s doing. She’s confident enough in knowing her own body that she knows this isn’t normal, not even a little, and she refuses to bow to the whims of whatever perverted psychopath put them in here.

Her foot knocks JJ as she goes, JJ squeaking a little. Despite this, Emily almost stepping on someone else in the act of stepping _over_ JJ—Reid, she thinks, judging by the fact that whoever it is seems resigned to being stepped on—none of them turn the flashlight on again. It’s that more than anything that convinces her that she’s not alone in how she’s feeling right now.

And it’s getting worse. The very act of moving is worsening it, as she runs her hands on slick, concrete walls and feels her nails catch on the grate of the vent. The air flowing through it is still cold, although no longer to the point of pain, and she closes her mouth and tries not to breathe the tangy scent of it, her body running hot again. On every point of her body that her clothing touches, she’s in agony, stopping at the corner of the room with her palms flat to the wall and just _breathing_ as fiery pinpricks of heat burn savagely at her shoulders and hips and arms. Her loose shirt, picked for comfort, is too tight to breathe in now, or so it feels. Enclosing her chest in an iron hand, her bra too agonising to find words for. And _Christ_ , her fucking _nipples_ under the once-silky fabric of her bra are rock hard and aching, Emily gritting her teeth and trying to steady her breathing to stop the rip and drag of the fabric touching them making her breasts ache sharply.

She can’t stay quiet anymore, knowing the forced silence of the others is very likely because they’re feeling much the same, bringing her cold hands from the wall to press to her cheeks in a single instant of blessed relief that’s quickly stripped away. “You guys feel it too, right?”

Hotch’s grunt is affirmatory. Reid just rasps, “Yes.” JJ makes a sound like a whimper.

“Reid?” Hotch asks suddenly, his voice the same as it’s always been but somehow inflammatory to Emily’s brain right now as it fires up in excitement at the deep tone. “What is this?”

“I don’t know,” Reid responds, sounding reluctant to say so. “Extrapolating from my own responses, I thought at first it was a simple physiological arousal, likely from some form of aerosolized, uh…”

“Aphrodisiac.” Emily gets it out there because, _fuck_ , one of them has to. She’s still leaning against the wall with her legs pressed tightly together and still very aware that she’s wet and getting wetter.

“Yeah, that, uh… that. Although I don’t know any that are this intense. Is anyone else in pain?”

There’s a whine to his voice that she winces at because she recognises why it’s there. She’s feeling much the same, like there are ants beginning to bite at any part of her where the pressure of clothes is hardest. It’s not even reducing the horniness either, just adding an extra _weird_ layer to it.

“Yes,” Hotch says shortly. An oddly relieving word to hear it coming from him.

“Yes…” JJ, and Emily’s heart aches for her.

“Fucking _yes_ ,” snaps Emily, not really at anyone, just at their situation. “Are we in danger?”

His, “I don’t know,” isn’t comforting at all. This is one of those situations where she’d be much happier if he _did_  and was ready to regale them on everything he, in fact, actually knew about it. “This is uncomfortable, but from a purely physiological outlook, there’s a four-stage model of human sexual responses. I’m, um…” He coughs and Emily swears that she can hear him audibly blushing, smiling tightly despite the fact that she’s beginning to tremble from pain. “I’m in the first, I believe. Initial excitement stage, followed by plateau phase, orgasmic phase, and resolution phase. There are other models, mostly to counter criticism of the reductive aspect of stripping emotion and cognitive factors from—”

“It’s okay, Reid.” Hotch’s voice is soothing. Emily had been about to snap at him, her patience wire thin even as she caves a little and loosens the buttons on her shirt just so she can breathe—the relief is _instant_ and she almost sobs with it—but she realises what Hotch has already worked out: Reid’s panicking and this is how he’s dealing with it. Shit, she hopes he’s not a virgin. Shit.

A small part of her mind wonders _why_ she’s so worried about that, like it’s relevant, like anything is going to happen down here, but she tamps it all down and says, “This is manageable. We can manage this. It can’t get _worse_.”

“Cognitively,” Reid murmurs, almost to himself and sounding a little dazed, “I think it might. You sound clear. Your voice is clear. I don’t… I don’t feel clear.”

Emily undoes another button, ignoring the pain building around her hips where her jeans are tight and hurting. “You sound clear.”

“She’s right. Reid, we’re all feeling it.” Hotch is calm, which is calming for Emily. Damn right she’s thankful for him. “Your thinking is fine. Just don’t panic.”

It’s JJ who speaks next, her voice soft. “I think I’m with Reid here. Maybe you guys are just better at ignoring it but I’m…” She trails off.

Emily undoes her last button, feeling her teeth grate together as her jaw tightens.

“Fixating,” says Reid. Emily’s gut drops. Uh oh. She’s not doing that. Is she? Not… yet. Not yet anyway. “I’m fixating. And I can’t stop it, which is unusual, because I can _always_ control my thoughts.” There’s that whine again, the terror, and Emily readjusts her worry that he’s a virgin: it’s not the possibility of sex that’s frightening him; it’s the reality of his mind disobeying him. There’s a rustle of clothes and a groan from his corner of the floor.

Emily caves. “Keep the flashlights off, I’m stripping,” she warns them, already flinging her shirt off and thrilling at the freedom of it. Reid makes a startled noise, but if he says anything after she doesn’t hear it; she’s too lost in the relief of finally dragging her pants off and kicking them aside to where she’s already set her gun and holster, the burn vanishing almost immediately. Tank next, then bra, and she’s on her knees and thanking the ground for the cool touch of cement to her skin. “Oh thank _fuck_ , it doesn’t hurt anymore. It doesn’t hurt, fuck.” Despite the relief, she’s still reluctant to remove her underwear in a room filled with her boss and two of her best friends. Hotch is still oddly quiet about their situation. Emily’s not sure if either of the other two has followed her lead as she hugs her arms around her bare skin and feels all the fine hairs on her arms lift at an aching, terrifying, _tempting_ thought: “What if it gets worse?” It’s not that she’s never thought about sex with most of them—who _hasn’t_ wondered what their co-workers are like in the sack—it’s just never been such a looming reality before and, if Reid is right and he’s starting to lose coherency, they need to talk about this now. “Just so you guys know, I’m not going to hold anything that happens against anyone, unless they tell Rossi.”

There are two audible intakes of air in the room, she’s not sure whose.

“That’s not going to happen,” Hotch says, the growl back in his voice. Emily feels a damp warmth pool between her legs at that growl, running her tongue over her lips and wondering if Hotch’s ‘grr’ voice is what Reid’s fixating on.

“Yeah,” she says slowly, not really kidding anymore. JJ and Reid are silent. “But if it does, I don’t want anyone walking out of here thinking they’ve hurt me. I’m down. I’m okay. And I’m _not_ fixated right now, so.”

“I agree with Emily,” JJ says suddenly, the loudest she’s been.

Hotch says nothing.

“You know, we’ve already inhaled the gas,” Reid says in a tight voice. “Our consent is impaired. It counts for very little.”

“It counts for me.” Emily needs them to believe that if something happens, it happens. Their captor won’t take her friends from her because of this. “Shit, Spencer—if I’d met you in a bar instead of the Bureau and you’d asked me home, I’d have gone. Same for any of you—I’m _not_ against this, just fucking _pissed_ that this is how it goes down.”

“Good to know,” Hotch says in a voice that’s drier than the air right now. “However, you didn’t meet us in a bar, we are on duty, and we _will_ be fine. We will.” Emily doesn’t point out that it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than them.

“But if we’re not,” Reid says suddenly in the dark, his voice quiet enough that she has to strain to hear it, “for what it’s worth… I consent.”

If she could have, she’d have hugged him at that moment, but she’s pretty sure that that’s a bad idea.

 

* * *

 

JJ curls small and rubs her hands across her arms, full body shivers following every sweep of her palms. She’s hyper aware of Spence to the left of her, every aspect of him crowding any conscious thoughts from her brain. The scent of his sweat, the sound of his breathing, the warmth she can swear is radiating from his skin. Her clothes are, mostly, neatly folded by her other side, gun and holster atop them, except for her bra and underwear. She can’t face taking them off, knowing just a click of a button will bare her to her world.

Emily and Hotch are beginning to argue in soft voices, muffled very slightly as though they’re turned away from the other two to try and keep their argument private. Despite this care, JJ can hear every word—they’re in a tiny, echoing bunker. There’s no privacy here. But it feels rude to listen, so she wiggles around and instead crawls her way slowly in the dark towards Spence, her entire body jolting and flushing hot when her knee strikes his leg. Pants. He’s still wearing pants. He still has clothes on. Part of her wonders how he can stand the pain, the other half is disappointed; there’s an extra small section, overlapping the other two, that wants her to run her hand up his leg and see if he’s—

“Spence?”

“Hmm?” His face turns towards her, only notable by the sound of his voice coming closer.

“Are you okay? With the dark?” She specifies because she assumes the answer to ‘are you okay with this situation’ is an obvious ‘no’.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

“I’m adjusting,” he mutters finally.  She knows him; that’s a bald-faced lie. Leaning back, fingers scudding on the concrete before bumping her clothes, she finds the flashlight and wraps her hand around it. It’s cold and heavy in her hands, something to focus on that’s not her body and the heat within, and she brings it over to tap on his leg. “What? No. We need… privacy.”

“We need to stay calm,” she argues. “You can’t do that if you’re freaked out about it being dark. And besides, we can turn around and just talk to each other. Talk each other through. You’re clothed, and I trust you.”

That’s terrifying to her. It’s not that she’s ashamed of her body—she’s not—but it’s a knee-jerk reaction to not want to be naked in front of her friend. It’s also something she knows she’ll adjust to quickly once the act is actually done.

“Okay,” he rasps.

“We’re putting a flashlight on,” she calls back, but only gets a quick affirmative from Hotch and a startled, “Ah” from Emily before she flicks it on. The light is harsh to adjust to for a second before she props it against the wall and tucks her shirt against it. It traps the light in a small circle before them, leaving Emily and Hotch still mostly obscured in the gloom behind them and only lighting select features of her and Spencer. It takes a beat before she can bring herself to look at him, fighting past the initial shame to realise that they’re probably going to see more of each other today than they’ve ever really considered before, despite Emily trying to reassure them otherwise. JJ’s never thought of sex with Spencer, except for once on their ill-construed date all those years ago. And, even then, it had been a fleeting whim that had passed quickly when it had become apparent he didn’t want to.

Hotch? Maybe. Sometimes. He’s handsome, and handsome is her type.

Emily? Definitely.

Except she’s thinking about it now. He’s not looking at her, which is fine for her shame but not fine for the way the yellow-red of the flashlight is casting shadows across his face, turning what’s familiar and safe into astoundingly sharp lines of jaw and cheekbone. She swallows, noting the fine curve of his throat, the bump of his Adam’s apple, the barest shadow of stubble on his chin where the light isn’t letting him hide it. Shadowed eyes and hair hanging coyly into his eyes; she closes her eyes for a moment and tightens her legs, feeling everything tighten with it until she’s a tense ball of heat and stress and desires all bound up by hot skin and a thudding pulse. Eyes open again, she looks at him once more and can’t help but choke out, “I’m scared.” Scared that he doesn’t really look like Spence to her right now, just a very male person sitting so close to her that she can imagine the shadow of the fold in his trousers is evidence of how much he wants her.

He’s never been able to resist that kind of need and he inches closer, his arm half extending to hug her before hesitating. She’s angry about that hesitation—not at him, never at him, but angry that this situation stops them from offering comfort to each other—and, probably foolishly, shuffles across to cuddle against him, back hunched to stop her breasts from rubbing against him. Both because that would be outstandingly awkward, and because she’s in agony from her bra and couldn’t stand the added stimulation without screaming.

And then his arms tighten around her shoulders and her worries that maybe the pressure-pain will extend to touch fade completely. It’s blissful. His touch is blissful and she presses closer, feeling his heart rate jack up hard through the arm she has leaning against his chest.

“What are the other stages?” she asks him, turning her head a little to look at Hotch and Emily and hardly hearing their conversation through the buzzing in her head. Something about consent—Hotch disagreeing with her summation that the outcome of this is inevitable.

“Of what?” Spence sounds dazed, his fingers beginning to rub her shoulder in firm, meaningful circles.

“You said there were four stages to human sexual responses. What are they?” It’s mostly because she needs to hear him say _something_ so she can focus past her own body, and also because her brain has latched on that hard and isn’t letting her think of another topic. “Initial arousal, right? That’s where we are now, so what’s next?”

“Plateau stage,” he responds, eyes darker than sin and just as delicious. She stares at them, knowing that’s uncomfortable for him but being unable to tear her gaze away from that fixed focus. “The period before… orgasm.” The way he says orgasm has her shivering, folding his tongue around the word and really shaping it out, pausing on the final sound. Tongue flicking over his lower lip. He’s felt it too, the way the word expands to become something she can’t push past, his fingers tightening against her back the same as hers are digging into the skin of her thigh. Crap. They need to change the subject. He can’t talk about this now without her— “Increased circulation and heart rate…” His hand slips from her, arm sliding back until he can bring his fingers to rest on the pulse point of her throat, which goes dry at the touch. And she’s still staring at his eyes, so she can see how dazed he looks, how dark they are. “Respiration elevates.” Like his. He’s breathing quickly, same as her, and they’re in trouble but no one is looking at them. “Increased circulation and muscle tension in both sexes, often accompanied by the onset of involuntary vocalisations…”

He trails off and she wonders what he sounds like when he moans. Watches the shape of his mouth as he licks his lip again, probably as dry-mouthed anxious as she is right now. When he adjusts the way he’s sitting, the hand he’s not holding to her pulse drifting down to fix his pants, her gaze follows it.

When he speaks again, his voice is husky and she can tell he’s probably mostly talking for the same reason she’d brought it up: in a way it’s absolutely never before, him talking about the mechanics of sexual arousal is turning them both on. Combining with the drugs they’ve been exposed to causing a blaze of heat in them both that’s driving them together, leaning closer to each other as they talk. She’s fascinated by the shape of his fingers as he smooths his pants down in an absent, rhythmic motion, obsessed with the idea that she’s close enough to touch him.

“It’s strange,” he’s murmuring. “Plateau stage usually requires some stimulation to reach. It’s the act of sex, beyond foreplay. The animal drive to continue rutting until completion is achieved. The body is in a heightened state due to both physical arousal and the state of activity it’s undergoing…”

“Why is that strange?”

Her eyes flick to her, the hand on her throat shifting to her cheek and leaving a trail of fire, and he’s still her best friend in this moment but _god_ she wants to kiss him. “Because I’m very much there,” he says, setting a spasm of aftershocks rippling down her. Just in time, she realises that she’s tightening with every word, her muscles contracting across her body, but especially between her legs. Every word is another rush of heat, another contraction, another shallow intake of breath that doesn’t actually give her any air. “And so are you. And we’re hardly touching each other, we’re just _talking_ , but…” And he leans closer, eyes closed now and breath hot on her lips. “But it feels like we’re so intimate, that we’re—”

“Can I kiss you?” she whispers, feeling his breath pause as he nods slowly, eyes flickering open. Eyelashes leaving half-moon shadows in the low light. She leans closer, feeling the heat of him, his hand hot on her cheek, hers curled around his leg… and he pauses, going rigid.

She pulls back, a cold flush restoring clarity. There’s a hand on her shoulder, another on Spencer’s, and he looks up and past her with his cheeks pink and looking confused. “Emily?” he says like he doesn’t recognise her at first, JJ turning and looking up at her too. It’s a weird kick to realise that she has to take a moment to reorientate herself away from Spence as well, not expecting a woman to be crouched beside them, topless… it takes a moment, and then JJ’s brain clicks onto that and she’s feeling warm again for an entirely different reason. “JJ wants me to kiss her.”

That sentence sounds so disconnected from his usual sharp-edged intelligence that JJ snaps her head around to look at him, chasing the fogginess away again. And he looks _fucked_ , eyes flicking between her and Emily, visibly hard with his cardigan and tie abandoned to the side and his shirt half undone. Even as she watches, he lifts a hand to scrub at his jaw and shakes his head again, slowly, like he’s waking up.

“Give me a random fact, Brainiac,” Emily orders him. A foot scuffs the ground and JJ turns her head to see Hotch looming, his eyes locked on Spence and his expression indiscernible.

Spence blinks before speaking, JJ relaxing a little to see him snap back to himself. “There are multiple forms and functions of kissing,” he says with a small half-smile. “With cultural differences being extensive. There’s actually twenty different kinds of kisses associated with French culture, and thirty with Germans. Interesting, considering—”

“He’s fine,” Emily declares, letting go of their shoulders and sitting back, looking up at Hotch. In that beat of movement, Spencer’s eyes very clearly land on her breasts and he stares, blinking rapidly before tearing his eyes away and looking down into his lap. Blushing again. “We’re in trouble, Hotch. Look at him. He’s so fucking pretty even him being an annoying asshole about kisses is turning me on. I don’t really think ignoring it is going to work much longer, do you?”

“You _asked_ ,” Spencer mutters, sounding peeved and very much like himself again. JJ’s feeling clearer too, although oddly unembarrassed about being caught in such an almost-compromising position with him and still very much like she’d like to kiss him.

“I could talk about bad porn, maybe?” Emily suggests in the awkward silence that follows. “You know, the ones where the guy is slamming in so hard it’s like he’s trying to touch the womb—”

JJ winces, crossing her legs and feeling a notable drop in her level of ‘turned on’.

“—or, if that’s not to taste, those ones where the girl just like _grabs_ the dick like it’s a lawnmower cord and she’s trying to rip-start it—”

Spencer peeps, eyes going cartoonishly large for a moment.

“Stop,” Hotch says shortly.

Emily stops, almost smiling before containing it. She is, JJ notices suddenly as the drop of ‘turned on’ lifts again like she’s on the world’s sexiest rollercoaster, so very pretty. Even when not almost naked, but _especially_ almost naked. Long legs that seem to go forever, the line of them broken by the dark underwear that hides if she’s aroused or not in ways that JJ’s sky-blue don’t. Up and up an abdomen that’s twice as toned as JJ’s, the scar Doyle left on her only adding to the appeal, and JJ’s eyes snap back to the scar before they can slip up to her breasts: there’s a tattoo around the rippled scar tissue. A blackbird. Wings outstretched.

She swallows.

And then Hotch speaks properly for the first time, like it’s taken him this long to find his voice and start thinking. JJ admires his willpower; he’s not looking at Emily at all, even though she and Spence definitely are. “Turn the flashlight off,” he says, ignoring Spence’s cut-off noise of disquiet. “Emily’s right. It’s not getting better, and being able to see each other is only making it worse faster.”

He’s not wrong.

“Sorry, Spence,” she whispers to her friend, who only nods slowly and closes his eyes before the light flickers off.

 

* * *

 

Hotch’s entire focus is on not feeling what he’s feeling. He hasn’t gotten as far as he has in his life by giving into his body’s every whim. When he’s wanted to cry in the past, there’s been more than once he’s had to choke it back and be harsh instead. When he’s wanted to be angry, he’s had to be calm. When he’s wanted, much like now, to take Emily and kiss her so fiercely that the promise of red pooling prettily on her chest just above those gorgeous breasts spreads to her throat and face, he has to breathe evenly and remember that he’s responsible for getting these people home safe and untraumatized, no matter how certain Emily seems that they’re all cognizant of consent, enough not to harbour ill-will towards each other. He’s responsible for their safety, and that’s why he can’t give in even a little to what the drugs and his cock are pushing him to do.

It’s also why he’s selfish at that moment. Reid’s uncomfortable in the dark, even more so when he’s already in a heightened state of alarm, but Hotch still orders them to turn the light off; he does this for a multitude of reasons.

He does it because he can’t get the image of Reid and JJ looking at each other like that out of his head, Reid staring at her like she’s all he’s ever dreamed of and JJ looking much the same at him. The slow lean towards each other, the small smile on Reid’s face as he’d lost all sense of resistance and just _felt_. It had looked like a euphoric kind of surrendering. Hotch wants to surrender like that. He wants to see his teammates surrender like that. He _wants_.

He does it because he can see Reid’s erection tenting his pants like the promise of what Hotch could have if only he crouched down there and asked if he could kiss him. He does it because Emily has amazing breasts with nipples he wants to slip his mouth around and test the hardness of against his tongue. He does it because he can see JJ tensing and relaxing her legs in a subtle, almost imperceivable movement. But he’s spent his life perceiving the imperceivable.

He does it because he wants them, all of them, and he can’t _have_ them.

But there’s no reprieve to be found in the darkness after the flashlight clicks off. They’re all so hyperaware that every noise, no matter how small, is viciously audible. Harsh breathing. Emily shifting from foot to foot, her need to move as bad as Reid’s when she’s anxious and trying to hide it. Reid’s pained whimpers, which Hotch can’t stand when he knows _why_ he’s doing it. The weight of Hotch’s clothes are so unbearable it’s almost a distraction from his arousal. Almost.

“Reid, take your clothes off,” he hisses, too much pain in his voice for them to not realise how hypocritical he’s being right now. Against his hardening cock, his trousers are tight, and it’s _torture._

“He’s right, Reid,” Emily adds. “It’s instant relief, just do it.” She doesn’t even bother telling him to do the same; they all know he won’t.

Reid doesn’t respond but they all hear him climb slowly to his feet, the whisper of his shirt hitting the floor. The zzzzzzz of his fly. Shoes clattering against the floor. The shake of pants being removed, feet pattering as he shifts about.

Hotch closes his eyes and grits his teeth and, without his conscious control, fixates on the sound of Reid undressing as his own hand skims the front of his pants. The softest brush of pressure. The barest promise of friction. It’s stunningly good and he tips his head back to try and stifle a groan, listening to Reid’s breathing calm just a bit as he removes the last of his clothes… Hotch’s hand pressing against himself again. He swallows the moan as it drops heavy into his gut and unspools into a molten coil guided by that touch and egged on by picturing Reid’s dick just as hard as—

He swallows again, hand dropping to sit stiffly at his side. Fixating. He’s fixating. Fixating on that look on Reid’s face aimed at him, at his cock in Hotch’s hand and his body shivering against his, fingers on his chest and head tipped back just like Hotch’s is now—

This has to stop. He’s disgusted with himself for caving even a little, a cold part of his brain wondering if he told Reid to strip for his own comfort or if it’s because Hotch wants him naked and touching him.

As penance for his imagined sins, he keeps his clothes on and bears the pain stoically.

He will resist this.

 

* * *

 

Reid’s eyes are closed as he runs through their options. Without his clothes burning his skin, he’s able to think, to theorise, to try and sort through the cacophonous noise of his animal brain overriding all logic and good sense. But a part of his brain is taken up by thinking of how nice it would have been to kiss JJ, another part by the sound of Hotch’s stifled breathing, yet another by how striking Emily looks naked and wanting and—

He curls down and thinks harder. The desire ebbs and flows in an almost uncanny simulation of how natural desire ebbs and flows—so it’s hijacking their limbic systems and riding on what they’re already hardwired to do. In theory, they should be able to manage it the same way as they would manage natural arousal.

“And how’s that?” JJ asks, startling Reid. He hadn’t realised he’d been talking out loud.

Emily snorts with amusement, a noise that usually irritates him but in this situation on makes him appreciate her more—whatever this cocktail of chemicals is, he thinks wryly, marriage counsellors could make use of it. “He means we should get ourselves off,” she says, her voice overloud in the dark. “Letting off steam, right, Reid?”

“Right,” he agrees weakly, looking down at his body despite not being able to see it. Bizarrely, he’s never felt _less_ naked then right now, like the warmth in the room is clothing him in comfort and, when he skims his hand curiously down his abdomen, he almost expects to feel fabric instead of oversensitive skin. But it’s skin he finds, coasting his hand down lower and finding the shape of his pelvic bone, tracing his fingers along it with fixed interest. “Right…”

“Fuck,” Hotch mutters, snapping Reid out of his daze. He’s never heard Hotch swear before—never. It’s strange and uncanny and, just like Reid had noticed, his arousal ebbs, going from fully erect to only partially. Interesting.

“We’re never living this down,” says Emily woefully.

JJ doesn’t answer. Reid turns his head to her, ears focused intently on her breathing, realising what he can hear with a very abrupt end to the ebb of his arousal: just like that, he’s completely hard again and his hand is questing down very much on its own. Regardless of what’s going on outside of this small sphere of space—Hotch saying something that might be comforting to Emily, his voice a husky hum—all Reid is focused on is the soft sound of skin and damp movement from his left, where JJ is. He shifts a little closer, hearing her catch her breath and shift too, her hip bumping his. Hotch keeps talking and that’s too much, the hum of his vocalisations the soundtrack to Reid curling his hand around his own dick and stroking slowly in tune with it.

Emily makes a low, dark noise. It’s almost a moan but not quite and JJ gasps with it, her body turning away from Reid’s and towards that sound in the darkness. Reid’s eyes are closed again despite the need, his body shifting up into the hand that’s moving quicker, his breath ragged and definitely audible now. Hotch pauses. What was he saying? Reid doesn’t know.

He wishes he’d keep talking.

“Fuck, Hotch, don’t…” Emily trails off with a bitten sound, like she’s choked the words back out of shame of almost voicing them. Reid’s entire body jolts with that: he’s not the only one aroused completely by Hotch’s voice. And there’s a painful silence where his body seems to plateau, nothing to be done for him except to hold him at the one singular point of arousal where his body is desperate to climax but his dick is hot and dry under his hand, not even pre-ejaculate helping him along. And that’s unusual for him, as strange as it is to consider—he’s never lasted long, not when this hyper-aroused, and it’s not comforting that he’s started now.

“We’re going to be okay,” Hotch says suddenly, but not in the same way he was speaking before. Now, it’s with purpose—with intent. He knows and he’s helping. He’s helping. Reid focuses on his voice as he keeps talking: “We’re all going to be fine. We’re going to get out of here, together. You all know that, don’t you?”

Reid opens his mouth to answer but there’s a soft flurry of movement and suddenly Emily is there. He knows it’s her because JJ is still beside him and the knee against his calf is too small to be Hotch’s. She grabs his hand with one of hers and, with a mewl, he’s suddenly moving his hand over the slick evidence of his arousal, his entire body ratcheting everything he’s feeling to the next level as it slams hard into preparing for sex.

“We need to touch,” Emily whimpers, bowing low over his hand and then shuddering _hard_ , the feeling of her body shaking ricocheting through his leg and arm. “God, _fuck_ , we need to touch or we can’t come.” And the last of her words trail off into a sobbed groan as she finds what she needs, JJ following seconds later. But Reid is still stuck, it’s not enough, it’s not _enough_.

A hand brushes his right shoulder, pressing down. Wide and warm as there’s the sound of material shifting: Hotch, crouching beside him, his mouth too close to Reid’s ear as he rubs Reid’s shoulder in a gentle line of fingers and says, “It’s okay, Spencer.”

It’s his name that does it. Reid jerks and comes, hard, feeling like he’s a little bit off-kilter when he comes back to himself to find the hand still there but now supporting instead of comforting. And he’s sticky and sore, his wrist aching and his abdomen a mess that revolts him for all of a second in the refractory period following climax—but only for a second and it all comes rushing back.

“Oh god,” Reid chokes out, shaking his hand to loosen the muscles in his wrist as they cramp and trying to breathe through the panic. “I’m still hard. I’m _still_ hard.”

“Shit,” says Emily after a beat. “Well, shit.”

 

* * *

 

Hotch is so distracted by the shock of feeling Reid come that he doesn’t even realise he’s accidentally guiding the man back with him, standing back up without his hand leaving Reid’s shoulder. It doesn’t really bother him that Reid follows that wordless gesture by staggering up to his feet, his body a pale blur in the complete gloom as he turns under Hotch’s grip and misconstrues the unconscious gesture as meaning he should follow. Since Hotch isn’t moving, this means he walks right into him, a muffled squeak of shock sounding as he goes to trip backwards away and Hotch automatically wraps an arm around him, like he would anyone else he was romantically involved with in order to pull them close.

And close he comes, suddenly nestled against Hotch’s chest with his mouth dangerously close to Hotch’s ear. It’s moments like these when Hotch remembers that they’re almost exactly the same height, their mouths within inches of each other. And he’s probably a mess, making a mess on Hotch’s clothes, but the idea is nothing but appealing right now.

He’s not going to give in. He’s not going to give in. Where Reid’s hands come to rest on his chest, pressing against him, he burns. He wants skin on skin, body on body, but his clothes are in the way and its all he can do not to rip them off right there and drag Reid to the ground with him to find everything he wants and more. Reid’s whispering, his head dropping and coming to rest on Hotch’s shoulder, suddenly leaning against him from top to bottom, a long, warm weight that burns as much as it pleases. Hotch pulls him tight and realises too late that his hips are shifting in a delicious roll against Reid’s leg, like he’s a dog instead of a man, but even this knowledge doesn’t stop him as the hard press of Reid’s cock welcomes him. Still hard, exactly like he said, and a dark part of Hotch’s mind purrs _waiting for you._

Math, he realises suddenly. Reid’s whispering math. He’s fighting it too.

There’s a moan from where the women are, followed by the distinct sound of kissing; Emily and JJ. That’s about the point where he wishes he had math to distract him as well, or a flashlight in order to _see_ , and that’s a thought that’s nothing like him. He resents himself for it even as his hand slips down to curve around the shape of Reid’s ass, pulling him against Hotch in a rocking motion.

“Aaron,” Reid chokes, those fingers tightening in his shirt, bunching the material painfully against his chest. “Oh, fu— _Aaron_.” And his head turns on Hotch’s shoulder, mouth finding his throat and nipping at it, tongue flickering across his skin.

There’s a brief moment where it could have gone either way: Hotch could have had him there and found the relief they needed, or he could have pulled away and left them both cold.

He does the second, staggering back and suddenly freezing at all the points Reid was touching him. “No,” he snarls, more to himself than to Reid—Reid didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all _Hotch_. “I can’t, Reid, I can’t.”

And if Reid was in his right mind, he’d have reassured Hotch that that was fine—so when the man does nothing but make a noise like a sob, his voice dropping like he’s fallen to his knees—Hotch knows he was right to pull away. But it’s a battle between Hotch’s dick and his brain that he’s determined his brain will win, so he keeps backing away from that perfect temptation until his back hits the wall and he’s left alone and burning up slowly from the inside out.

 

* * *

 

Emily’s a heavy weight on JJ’s body, despite the knee and elbow she’s using to hold part of herself up. It’s not an uncomfortable weight; in fact, JJ’s pretty sure that she’d be happy if Emily were to lower herself completely onto her, every touch of their skin sending sparks of hunger dancing, an oxytocin rush that’s starting to make her feel more stoned than the kissing is. And Emily kisses like she does everything else: fiercely and with the knowledge that she _will_ succeed. It’s captivatingly erotic, and JJ’s never made out with a woman before but she could definitely get behind it if it was all like this.

“Can I take these off?” Emily pants against her mouth, spare hand sliding flat down JJ’s stomach until the fingers are teasing at the elastic of her underwear, threatening to dip in. “Is that okay?”

It’s not like they’re doing much now but making her more uncomfortable. JJ arches into that touch, panting _yes_ and using her own hand to try and unhook her bra. She wants to be naked like she hasn’t been yet, Emily’s weight vanishing for a moment and leaving her lonely as the other woman sits up and helps slide the ruined panties down JJ’s legs, cold and damp on her skin. Her bra follows and suddenly Emily is back, lifting JJ with almost absurd ease considering they’re so close in size and resting her on her lap. JJ almost fucking _purrs_ with delight at all the skin she’s finding, hands skating Emily’s hips, her waist, her face, and feeling their nipples brush together in a soft rush of _oh_ as Emily’s back arches too. Her legs wrapped around Emily’s back, Emily’s mouth finding her ear and kissing at it softly. JJ’s the one who takes the leap: she slips her hand down between their legs and touches a woman like this for the first time, finding wet heat and a needy wanting down there. Despite knowing herself, it’s different with someone else—and she fumbles for a moment before Emily moans and adds another hand, curling gently around hers and guiding her with a soft, “Like this.”

She shows JJ how to play with her clit in just the right way before asking her to show her how to do the same, losing what feels like hours to a playful give-take between them as they learn each other. They’re both easily distracted by their quest of getting each other off; it seems the drugs they’ve ingested are either easing or they’ve achieved their aim, which is locking them into this blissful exploration for eternity. And JJ would be happy to be trapped here.

Happy to coast along like this, fucked out and feeling nothing but happy until Emily suddenly slips two fingers inside her with a shocking feeling of having another person enter her, crooking those fingers and stroking slowly along her inner walls. Searching for something almost, but happy to tease JJ along the way.

“You’ve done this before,” JJ accuses her, every muscle in her body contracting at once and Emily’s movements pausing as she clamps around her. “Haven’t you?” Her voice breathy and thin, a small, tiny, unimportant part of her wondering where Reid and Hotch are.

“Mm, yes,” Emily moans against her throat, wiggling closer and shifting her entire body in rhythm with the stroke of her fingers. “And… _here_.” _There_ is right, as she slides her fingers along some part of JJ that sets off an inflammatory cascade of responses inside her: she comes hard and fast without any real understanding of what’s happening, only realising that she’s crying out Emily’s name and an embarrassing range of noises when she hears Reid’s voice in her mind whispering _involuntary vocalisations._

And then she’s crumpled against Emily, breathing hard and covered in sweat, her hands disgusting with a mix of them both and her heart hammering so fast that she’s dizzy with it. When she can think again, she thinks she asks Emily what she needs her to do for her, but mostly she’s just stunned to realise that she’s feeling clearer with every second passing—like the act of Emily fucking her with her fingers like that has pushed her clear through whatever roof the drugs had over her and out onto the other side. Already, the idea of sex is fading in appeal, although there’s still enough leftover arousal in her that she wouldn’t be against the idea of continuing this dance with Emily. It’s cleaner though, less insistent—much more reminiscent of how she usually feels when turned on.

But Emily is distracted, shifting against JJ in a way that’s not sexual as she seems to look over her. JJ wonders how she looks right now—clear or dazed? Hungry or sated?

“Hotch, what’s going on?” Emily says suddenly, the throbbing heat in her voice fading just a little. “Reid, where are you? Come here.”

And JJ snaps back to the moment, turning as well as Emily slides off of her and realising that there’s a low, pained sob sounding behind her. Not a crying sob, like he’s broken, but one that’s pressed out a chest that’s tightening. More fumbling as Emily calls out for Spence’s location again, Hotch not answering, and JJ finds the flashlight and flicks it on. It illuminates Hotch backed up against the wall, his eyes narrowed against the glare. He looks utterly fucked, his face sweaty and body hunched up like he’s in constant, all-encompassing pain. And Reid is kneeling on the floor in front of him, his focus locked on the ground and arms hugging himself, not looking much better.

“Reid, come here,” Emily coaxes, shuffling towards him on the floor after wiping her hands on her shirt with a strange half-disgusted, half-excited glance down at them. From the look of her, she’s having an easier time of it—she’s not hunched over or shivering or half out of her mind with pain.

“He can’t consent,” Hotch says, eyes still scrunched shut. JJ hurts for him. They’ve all felt the touch of fixation, but Hotch’s determination to keep them safe means he’s fixated on _that_ , despite how much it’s hurting him to do so.

“I fucking _consent_ ,” Spence chokes out, looking up and throwing a look at Emily’s that’s absolute pure sex, his eyes huge with pupils that are blown. “Please, please, I _consent_ , just _help_ me. Someone. Anyone?  _Please._ ”

Emily goes straight for Spence, his utter relief when she takes his hand audible as a slow groan that unspools from deep in his chest as he practically melts against her, doing nothing but huddling close and trying to calm himself down with the respite of her touch. Emily curls around him, hugging him close and letting him come back to himself, jerking her head at Hotch in a reminder to JJ that Spence isn’t the only one hurting.

JJ goes to Hotch. “Just touch my hand,” she tells him gently when she’s standing before him, holding it out to him. “Aaron, it helps. Honestly, even a hand helps. It’s just my hand—I promise.”

He looks at her with nothing familiar in his eyes before slowly reaching out and taking the hand she offers. There’s a brief moment of shocked clarity in his eyes before he closes them, a tremor of _something_ intense flickering through him. There’s a quiet beat where he’s visibly fighting something down before those soft eyes open and he whispers, “Can I hold you? Just… just a hug. Please?”

“Yes, absolutely,” she says, stepping into his arms and pulling him close. Despite how carefully she’s holding him, her hands barely pressing down on the starched lines of his button down, he’s locked so rigidly against her that she can feel everything. She can tell that he’s hurting himself with his refusal to give in for fear of taking something they’re not willing to give. And maybe he’s right, maybe they can’t really consent like this—but she knows her mind and she knows _herself,_ and she especially knows that she hates feeling him hurting like this when relief would be so damn simple. She pulls him closer, feeling him give in and wrap himself around her, all hard muscle and firm angles under the illusionary lines of his suit. Despite this, he hugs well, and she feels encompassed and safe as his arms loosen just a little to let her tuck close. There’s a burn of hunger still dancing across her skin, the fading remnants of the drugs still distantly present and trying to drive her to abandon like it is Spence and Emily behind them—she can hear the soft sounds of skin touching and knows that they’re together—but more important than that right now is helping her friend in any way she can, even if just a hug.

Even if that’s made a lot harder by the fact that he’s rock hard against her leg, pressed close enough to her that she can feel the throb of the pulse in his cock through the trouser material. It’s hard enough that it’s definitely hurting him, no give in it when she leans closer to feel it clearer, a groan sounding silently deep in his wide chest. His hands around her shoulder-blades grip harder, the pressure setting her skin alight. Suddenly, it’s a lot harder to focus on why she’s here and what she is and isn’t supposed to be doing: all she wants is to get him off. Maybe she’s not quite out of the woods just yet, even if she can see the light ahead.

But she refuses to cross the boundaries he’s set, just leaning her head into that chest and breathing in the scent of his washing powder and sweat all mixed together, mouth against the tie he’s still fucking wearing. Head throbbing along with the hungry beat of her heart. If he’s thankful, the only indication she gets of it is his thumb working small circles into her back, each circular touch sending another shockwave of warmth through her.

His grip tightens suddenly, another silent groan sounding deep. When she tips her head back to study him, letting her body sway with his grip so she’s tight against that trapped heat, his eyes are locked over her head and he’s dangerously flushed. She wonders what he’s seeing, what her friends are doing behind them. Wants to look but knows that’s a bad idea because anything more and she’s going to be climbing him like he’s a particularly dapper tree.

And then Emily’s voice whispers behind them, carrying despite her care because her tone is rough and honey-deep: “Can I kiss you?”

Those words slam deep into them both. Hotch’s arms wrap around her, pulling her tight against him, and she doesn’t mind at all because it gives her a sly excuse to brush along his front, the friction tangible with him holding her how he is. She feels swallowed by the material of his shirt, her skin itching, her body aflame, and every touch of her bare body to the thin barrier between her and his dick causes another cascade of shivers down her to culminate in a wet flush between her legs, adding to the ache Emily’s already left down there.

When Spence says, “Yes,” in a voice that’s every bit as aroused as Emily’s, Hotch goes absolutely rigid against her. It’s the tone that he says it in that fucks them both: coarse and hungry with a tiny bit of a plea lingering below the awed croak of it. It’s no secret now that Hotch is getting off to his voice just as easily as they were to his; his hips are tapping small secrets against her as she repositions herself on tiptoes so he’s not rubbing against her leg anymore, small breaths coming sharply with every touch of his dick as she closes her eyes and pretends he’s going to push right through his pants and into her.

There’s the gentlest suggestion of kissing behind them, the noise almost intangible and gone in a moment. JJ’s not looking, but she can imagine what Hotch is seeing in the wide eyes she glances up at, can imagine how sweet they’re being to each other. Spence’s wide hand cupping Emily’s cheek, his eyes closed, and Emily breathing softly so she doesn’t startle him away.

“It’s okay,” JJ whispers into Hotch’s shirt, closing her eyes and letting his body move against her. “Just keep holding onto me. It’s okay. It will help.”

He must hear her because his mouth comes down to press to her hair, inhaling so sharply she’s sure it hurts his lungs—and then Spence moans Emily’s name. It’s low and shocked like he hadn’t even released the sound on purpose, barely even trailing to an end before he’s snapped it off into a pitched gasp that culminates in sudden movement. As if Emily had pressed forward and caught the tail end of that sound in her mouth, catching her name said in such an overwhelmed fashion in order to memorise forever. The sound has barely ceased when Hotch makes the smallest of noises against JJ’s hair, his hips pressing forward and _stopping_ for the longest beat of her heart before he comes, hard.

Despite feeling how hard he throbs against her in that second, his trousers suddenly as wet as she is, he doesn’t soften in the after. She’d heard Spencer’s whimpered sob earlier when he’d realised solo release wasn’t enough, and Hotch makes the same sound—albeit inaudible to anyone without their ear against his chest—right now. She looks up, finding him flushed with embarrassment but, despite how hard he remains, somehow better than he had been.

“It’s okay,” she tells him again, seeing him nod with visible relief. “We’re getting through this.”

 

* * *

 

There aren’t words to describe what Emily feels like against him. What starts as her just holding his hand changes so fast and so dangerously that he can’t keep up, her palm warming against his until she’s suddenly easing closer and asking to kiss him.

Of course, he says yes. There isn’t a part of him that doesn’t want this, not now and not before this bunker. It’s a point of shame for him that he’s gotten himself off in the past imagining her lips on his, that the idea of kissing her is almost as erotic as the idea of sex with her is. Kissing, for him, is an intense admission of attraction. It’s every bit as intimate as sex, if not more. That ‘yes’ for him is more than she’ll ever understand, as he welcomes her completely into a small segment of people he’s kissed and loved kissing. The fire from before is back as her lips touch his gently, a whisper of a touch, but it’s nowhere near pain anymore. There’s nothing painful about this. He can’t even feel the rest of his body at that moment, so hyperaware is he of his mouth and hers and the point of delicious contact between them. Over in an instant and he feels bereft, leaning back and trying to remember what to do without her mouth against his.

Then she returns, with more force this time, a hungry need. Tongue flickers against his lips and he opens them, greedily welcoming her in and demanding more. Before he can think to ask her what they’re doing, she’s sliding onto his lap and his hands have settled over her hips, guiding her deeper atop him. _Be with me_ his hands are saying because his mouth is busy learning how well she knows him, and her body responds with a delight _absolutely._ She’s perfect against him, her skin on his as she settles close, heart to heart and her breasts tight to his chest in a grip that he almost feels should hurt her, but that she doesn’t seem to notice. His dick is trapped between their stomachs, insignificant right now: what’s sex compared to _this?_ He could stay like this always, wrapping so tightly around her that they’re almost one against the world. When she moans into his mouth, breaking away to breathe and then coming back for a desperate return to him, inhaling with her mouth to his like she’s trying to survive purely on his proximity, she bends and curls against him, spreading the wet pool of his mess and hers between them.

At that moment, he doesn’t care that she’s wet on him. He doesn’t care that his come is smeared on his stomach. He doesn’t care that, usually, this would revolt him: he just wants all of her.

But Hotch makes a soft sound behind them, almost a private sound, and if Reid wasn’t so attuned to everything sexual at this moment, he’d have missed it or misunderstood it: somehow, he knows innately that Hotch had come behind them, possibly because of them, whatever the reason, Reid inhales and groans, suddenly burning more than before. Torn between twin desires of just kissing and holding Emily forever and the sudden inflammatory realisation that he can have _more_ of her. He can be one with her, locked within her, and all it would take would be her lifting up and sinking down atop him.

“Don’t let go of me,” Emily’s whispering into his mouth, breaking apart and kissing his jaw, the bow of his mouth, his eyelid as it flickers closed against the air she breathes upon it. “Don’t let go. You’re so warm, fuck, so _warm.”_ They’ve been reduced to heat-seeking animals, lost in nothing but the search for each other, and she reaffirms it with a desperate, “Come here, come _here_ ,” as she hauls him tighter against her body and does her best to crush him in her grip. Breathless and sinking into the desire of her, he allows this, even loves it.

Like they’re responding to his desirous whims, his hands on her hips have eased her up and brought her back down, the cold air between them unsettling them both. Her hands scrabble at his sides, trying to cling, his clamp tight on her skin. And he pulls her close again, this time with his cock tucked between her lips and the head pushing warningly into the hot welcome he can feel there. She clutches against him with a snarled half-moan, half-shout, jerking her hips down automatically and accidentally shoving him inside her with a sudden hot-shock to them both. For that second of losing his mind to her, he feels her muscles clamping down around the end of his dick, tightening in such a firm ripple that he’s pulled in just a little deeper: the head fully in now and his mouth locked open in a soundless gasp of ecstasy.

But she clamps her legs around him, not allowing him either further ingress or a panicked egress. “Fu- _fuck_ ,” she rasps, before biting his shoulder and clinging on with her teeth.

Hard.

And she’s relaxed her legs so he does the only thing he can think to do when suddenly being bitten and jerks up into her, feeling her ride the painful push of his dick into her without even a whimper. He’s absently aware that she’s aroused enough that he slides in easily, bottoming out with a tap of his hips to hers without causing her pain from slamming in too hard. For a beat, they’re locked together, him in her and her on him; the last few hours of tension and pain and arousal twist out of his mouth in a raw bark of her name that turns into a sigh, his entire body relaxing as though he’s happy just to melt into her like this and stay forever.

“Spence?” he hears JJ ask, sounding surprised and a million miles away.

“Prentiss?” Hotch adds, his voice so enticing that Reid feels his body respond hungrily to it, cock twitching inside Emily as his heart sends another rush of blood down to make sure he’s doing an adequate job at propagating the species.

“Oh fuck,” Emily hisses out as she feels him respond like that. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Hotch, I felt him get harder at your voice, Hotch. Move, Spencer, you shit, _move_.”

He moves. How could he not? Shifting in and out of her in a slow rhythm that quickly becomes fast, the beat of their bodies culminating in this instinctual dance on the floor of the cement bunker. And they’re not being quiet now, not at all, so there’s no way that the others in the room don’t know that they’re fucking. Oddly, Reid is pleased by this in a way he’d never be normally, hoping that it’s as good for their voyeurs as it is for them.

There’s light on them, the flashlight beam, but Reid’s eyes are closed and he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, feeling the final tempestuous moments of their coupling hurtling to a sudden and unstoppable end as everything in his body draws tight—his dick, his balls, the muscles of his abdomen—all preparing for this: he comes hard and with a cry that hurts, opening his eyes to find Emily’s eyes closed and Hotch watching them hungrily, the flashlight in his hand and JJ huddled against him.

He comes watching Hotch’s dark eyes, falling into that look as his nails bite into the skin of Emily’s back, feeling her come with him even though he’s barely done anything to help her in the unstable tumble of his brain into primality.

And he’s still hard when they’re done; her eyes when they open are empty of anything she is. There’s a shred of clarity reasserting itself in his mind, but Emily? She’s gone. She needs nothing but what he’s giving her right now, her hands tight around his waist as she tries and fails to pull him in deeper, him struggling to stay seated now that they’re slippery with come and sweat and her.

“Don’t let me go,” she gasps, wrapping herself around him and hanging on for dear life. “I just… I need… help. Help, Spence, help.”

He doesn’t let her go, helping adjust her against him so she’s no longer in danger of slipping loose and wrapping his arms around her. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to.

He trusts her to tell him what she needs.

 

* * *

 

Emily is fucked. Sex with Reid had tripped some sort of switch in her brain she’d been managing to keep under control until now, turning her into the same messy, frantic horn-dog the rest of them have all—except Hotch—been at some point by now. All she can think about is her relief that Reid’s still hard despite coming because she’s not at all ready for him to pull out of her. The idea of it is so horrifying to her that she rolls her hips along him and almost sobs a little at how wondrously _full_ she feels, dreading the emptiness that will come with him leaving her. She throbs around him, trying to draw him deeper despite him not having any dick _left_ that’s not inside her. Distantly, it’s gotten a little colder, her skin pimpled against that chill even though she’s flushed pink from the sex.

“It’s wearing down,” JJ says distantly. “For me anyway.”

“Me too,” Reid rumbles against Emily, terrifying her for a second that he’s going to pull away and leave her. But, instead, he kisses her hair and starts a steady beat of his hips into hers, a soft, rhythmic moan sounding from him on every thrust. It’s a sated kind of moan, like he can’t believe he’s still going enough to be both still aroused and almost blissful from the post-climactic haze, and his hands aren’t biting into her skin anymore but petting her gently, long, slow strokes down her back that feel like they’re drawing her apart into a helpless puddle of what was once Emily Prentiss atop him.

She doesn’t feel worn down at all. Not even a little. Except, where hands that aren’t Reid’s touch her shoulders and put a jacket around them, it doesn’t hurt. The jacket is welcomed, especially when she gets a waft of the scent from it. Hotch. It’s Hotch’s suit jacket and she moans out her thanks, inhaling his scent and wanting him too if he’ll have her. They can both have her, she doesn’t mind. Anything to find what her body wants, the same happiness that JJ and Reid have found.

“I don’t want to stop,” Reid says, his voice slow and pleased. “Not yet, _oh_ , not yet…” But his voice trails off into a startled gasp and the sound of delighted kissing. Emily realises her eyes are closed as her thoughts had turned inwards: she opens them and Hotch is crouched beside her, his hand on Reid’s knee, his jacket around Emily’s shoulders, JJ’s hand on his back, and he’s kissing Reid. They’re kissing. Emily stares at that, feeling Reid’s cock inside her swell and throb in response, any relief he’d found by coming initially suddenly relief no longer as everything Hotch’s lips and tongue are doing to him serves to turn him right the fuck back on again.

“Aaron, give me your hand,” she says without thinking. He does so, barely pulling away from Reid’s mouth as Reid’s own hand snaps up to hold him there, curled around his jaw. The kiss is deeper now, rougher, Reid bowed as Hotch’s tongue delves deep and claims him as his own, no longer claimed by Emily despite the fact that they’re still fucking. And she doesn’t think through what she’s about to do even before she does it, whispering, “Feel what you’re doing to him,” and guiding Hotch’s hand between their legs. Then she lets go, letting him do whatever feels right.

And he does, barely hesitating except to pull away from Reid’s mouth slightly so he can breathe as his body fires up hard, fingers sliding down the mess of stickiness between their bodies to slide down the centre line of her, like her body has become an arrow to where Reid’s dick is working her apart. Through her his fingers drift slowly, his breath expelling in a pleased huff when he pauses over her clit and teases it gently to see how they respond: the answer is explosively, as she ripples around Reid’s cock and he whimpers along in tune with her body. Lower Hotch drifts, finally to where she’s open and filled, Reid pulling out a little automatically, his eyes huge with curiosity and then, when Hotch strokes his fingers along the messy length of his dick, delight.

And when Reid slides back into her, Hotch adds a finger, pulling her open a little more, almost uncomfortably, feeling the way Reid completes her.

Reid makes the prettiest sound as Hotch slides his finger out and adds a different one, at an angle now that he can be inside her while also teasing her clit. Far too gone now to be hesitant about what he’s doing, just acting on instinct. And there he stays, working them both as they work each other until, with his eyes locked on Emily and Reid curled against his chest and almost shaking apart, he feels them both come against that exploratory hand: Emily first, almost crushing that finger against Reid’s dick in a shuddering, non-stop motion that _must_ hurt them, although they don’t complain; Reid next, with the tired pulse of it only adding a small dribble of come to the mess but still pleasing enough to Hotch, judging by the look on his face.

And then Emily is drained, suddenly fucked and getting cold, almost flopping back against the ground as she realises she can barely move for the ache of her body. JJ’s there to catch her, easing her back as Reid slips free, finally softening as he does the same, but instead being caught by Hotch.

Emily closes her eyes, exhausted and ready to sleep… almost drifting until suddenly there’s a whisper of Reid speaking.

“Your turn,” he whispers to Hotch, Emily cracking an eye open to look at them both. “Come on, Hotch. It’s so good. Let me be good to you too.” Despite the fact that he’s soft and looks calm now, his expression is intent.

“Undress,” Emily orders, struggling up and crawling to Hotch with JJ supporting her. “Come on. Don’t leave us hanging.”

With a dazed look at his slippery hand and then an equally dazed look at the mess they’ve made of Reid’s crotch, Hotch nods and begins to fumble with his shirt buttons.

Finally.

 

* * *

 

They have to help him undress. By this point, he’s past capable. But suddenly his clothes are off and the relief of that has him on his ass, gasping out loud like he can barely handle the world when he’s this light and free of pain. He wants to stretch, to luxuriate in the air kissing his skin and the pleasurable brush of the ground below him, the pleasure so intense it’s actually sexual in nature.

Then Reid is there, scooting up beside him and lying there, the flashlight beam catching both their bodies lined together in an exquisite line of flesh and firmness. Hotch sweeps his hands down his own skin with a moan of relief that it doesn’t hurt, and then, after Reid nods assent, does the same to his skin.

It’s like nothing he’s felt before. His entire body lights up like he’s shoved lit matches under his skin and struck them in unison, and he can’t remember why he was fighting this anymore. Just that Reid’s skin is everything he’s ever wanted to touch, everything in the world right now. Reid smiles at him, the smile tired on his sated expression, his dick nestled softly between his legs. After another nod of assent from the man, Hotch touches that too, shivering a little at the evidence of Emily still there as Reid hisses a little from oversensitivity.

“Come here,” Reid murmurs, inviting Hotch into his arms. He goes. They lie side by side on the ground with every part of Hotch that he can manage touching the other man, his brain alive with seeing him and Emily together, the bliss on his features as he’d found what Hotch is now seeking: a bitterly glorious end in each other. But his back is bare and cold and he hisses and tries to burrow deeper into the other man—until there’s a sudden warmth behind him, someone propping him up, and he turns his head a bit to find JJ there. His cock twitches against Reid’s leg at the sight of her breasts and he twists some more and brushes his lips to a nipple, hearing her sharp intake of breath.

_Ask_ , his brain snarls, but his body is beyond asking. The quiet voice goes quieter yet as Emily curls behind Reid, her head on his shoulder and looking like she just wants to sleep too, despite her arm curling around him so her hand can find Hotch’s dick and stroke him gently.

“We can’t have penetrative sex,” Reid murmurs to Hotch, leaning closer and kissing him between this statement and the next. “We don’t have anything to assist and it would hurt, even if your brain is telling you it won’t now. But we can still get you over.”

“This is fine,” Hotch grates out, pulling him tight with JJ and Emily helping him do so, so tight that every shift of his body is another touch of someone’s skin against his, another stroke of a hand down him, Reid reaching down to help too. He’s trapped in a crushing press of heat and skin and touch and he’s coming undone into nothing but a man made of intense emotions, moving instinctually and finding that nothing in that press of bodies is unpleasant in comparison to the agony his clothes had been. JJ is kissing his shoulder-blade in light butterfly touches of her lips that he wants to return if he could face the idea of turning his back on Reid; Reid is kissing his mouth in an explosion of feeling that Hotch doesn’t know how to voice except to moan involuntarily, feeling everything he is bunching up in what he knows is going to be an explosion of everything he’d bottled up, everything he’d seen; Emily is still stroking stroking stroking, and Reid is only barely slightly not hard, the smallest swell of interest telling Hotch that he would be driven wild by this if his body had the ability to right now.

And he holds them close and hopes they’ll be okay after the ends, feeling his body hurtle to an unstoppable end; despite this, he’s not worried. They’re there supporting him and they have this whole time and always will be; it’s with this comforting thought that a groan that’s innate and deep finally tears from his throat and he comes for the second time over Emily’s hand and Reid’s skin, collapsing back into the cradle of JJ’s arms as a blissful, final exhaustion overtakes him.

 

* * *

 

Almost like the end of a bad joke, the door opens.

Exhausted and stunned, at first none of them moves. They just turn and look at that open door, blinking stupidly as they try to remember what exists outside of this bunker that smells of sex and sweat. There’s a lingering trace of the cocktail of chemicals in their bloodstreams that tells them all to stay in the sweaty tangle of limbs and beating hearts on the concrete floor; it’s strong enough that Reid, at least, suspects that if the door had been opened twenty minutes before when they were still entranced in each other, not a single one of them would have wanted to leave.

Emily moves first, finding her underwear and using that to clean herself up a bit, scrabbling for her tank top and doing the same for Reid. He takes over after a minute of being too tired to move, daubing at himself and suddenly wanting nothing more than a shower. In silence, they clean themselves up as much as they can, trying to hide what they’ve done from outside eyes who they suspect won’t feel as good about it as they do right now—possibly also a side-effect of the drugs. Reid wonders if it will wear off, this contentment with the sex. Emily hopes it doesn’t. Hotch tries not to think about it, and JJ just rolls with it as she’s always rolled with what’s thrown at her.

Without a word, they redress and slink from the room, one by one with every one of them wondering where they go from here. Emily holds Spencer’s hand. JJ walks by Hotch’s side. There’s something between them now that there wasn’t before, some small indication that they don’t want to leave what they found in there _completely_ behind.

But before they can put that silent feeling into actual words, they round a corner and find the rest of their team barrelling towards them.

“Thank _god_ ,” Morgan breathes when he spots them, lowering his weapon and looking them up and down. “What happened? We couldn’t even track your cells.”

“No signal,” Hotch manages, hoping his suit isn’t stained.

“We’re okay,” JJ adds, blushing a little.

Spencer just lets go of Emily’s hands and coughs, covering his mouth to hide his expression. And Emily says nothing.

Rossi looks from one to the other slowly, his gaze narrowing with suspicion. “What the hell happened to you lot?” he asks loudly. “You all look _fucked_."

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Plot twist: Rossi is the unsub ;)**
> 
> I love to hear from you guys. Leave a comment or come chat with us on the [Criminal Minds Discord server](https://discord.gg/kPxKjaE) (don't be shy by how quiet we are--we love new people to talk to!). I also run weekly rewatch threads both on the server and over at the /r/[criminalminds on Reddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/criminalminds/), so come along and join in the small community there. Hope to see some new faces!


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